Dragoncrest Cliffs Built to last but prone to fall

Rosalyn walked through the meadow along the edge of the tangle. She barely noticed the insects that brushed by, caught still by the past few days.

She'd helped to search for her grandson long into the night, but at length they'd been forced to give him up for lost. Pragmatism told her that at least he'd been young... in time, the scars would fade easier. Chacal hadn't known him like she would the others. It was a cruel thought that she kept only for her own comfort, small as it was.

And another one gone. Gunnar had disappeared, and with it her chance to share with someone who understood. Someone who wouldn't fear the conversations she ached to have, but still refused to. It didn't matter if she ever intended to actually use that door. Now that it was gone, all she had left to do was resent its disappearance.

And still they wondered why she held no respect for them. As one by one they always disappeared, wordless, from their shores.

She'd needed a moment alone. There was too much anger in her now, she felt, and nowhere to direct it. Her grandson was gone and now Chacal knew, far sooner than any mother ever should, how it felt to lose a piece of her heart. If she could tear apart the cliffs to bring him back to her, Rosalyn would. Instead she could do nothing.